


99 cent dreams

by jeynestheon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Getting Together, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26644720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeynestheon/pseuds/jeynestheon
Summary: “You shouldn’t smoke, you know.” Her chin rested on her dainty fist.“Heard that one before.” He said dismissively, striking his match.“You can’t kiss me if you smoke.”She said it so casually, yet so imperiously that it pissed him off. But the word was already echoing in his head. Kiss. The seed had been planted. Now he was looking down at her soft pink mouth and he couldn’t help but want. Need. It took everything in him to meet her eyes again.His voice was remarkably even. “Who says I wanna kiss you?”Sansa rolled her eyes, and took the match. She blew it out. He didn’t even try to stop her. Their mouths were pretty close.“You wanna kiss me.” She said simply.Yeah. He did.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 33
Kudos: 387





	99 cent dreams

**Author's Note:**

> A 70s au that’s been rolling around in my head for awhile. Loosely based off of the movies the nice guys and once upon a time in hollywood. Enjoy.

It would have been easier to say no if he didn’t know her. 

He still doesn’t, not really. He doesn’t think he ever will. But the problem was that he felt like he did from the very first moment he saw her—that first, fleeting exchange of glances that didn’t feel fleeting at all. Time seemed to slow. Everything about it is actually rather dramatic. 

She was making her way down the crosswalk in these daisy dukes that didn’t leave much to the imagination and a halter top the color of chlorinated pool water. Her hair was a mass of big curls that bounced as she walked, burning copper in dying sunlight. She had a bag full of books and was carrying more up against her chest. Her cheeks were pink from the heat, but a pleasant, pretty kind of pink. 

It was Tuesday. He was tired. He was angry as he was always angry. But not in that moment. He was too busy watching her. 

Her gaze lifted to his by chance. Her eyes were blue like the sky. He had been caught. He should have looked away. He didn’t He was frozen, like a fly in spider silk.

She smiled at him, all pearly and beaming, holding up a peace sign. Her nails were pink. 

Jon swallowed, panicking inwardly, stupidly, before he gave her a halfhearted, awkward peace sign back. Both hands were still on the steering wheel, clenching painfully.

Her smile grew wider, and she laughed.

He realizes now, that that was the moment all hope was lost.

Maybe he could have said no if he hadn’t heard her laugh. Or at least that’s what he’ll keep telling himself.

* * *

The second time Jon saw her, she was hitchhiking. 

In heels. The big clunky kind with the wedges at the bottom. He cursed aloud, and realized he was cursing her, and then, as he watched her run her hands through her big red hair, he forgot why the hell he was cursing her in the first place. The light turned green, and he didn’t pay it any mind. The cars behind him started honking and he didn’t pay those any mind either.

She did, though. When her gaze wandered over to see what all the commotion was about, she saw him and grinned. She waved at him like they were old friends. Jon waved back, unsure of what else he could do. 

She held her thumb out to him in question.

Jon sighed, knowing he shouldn’t. He did it anyway. He made the U turn. He pulled up next to her.

She got in the car gracefully for someone in such ridiculous shoes. She shut the door gently, and buckled her seat belt. “Thanks.” She said to him.

He ignored that. He ignored the fact her voice was lower than he thought it would be and most importantly he ignored that he liked it that way. “Where you headed?”

“The strip, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Everything about her was trouble. Jon knew that because he was trouble himself. But she was trouble in the way that too much candy would mean trouble for your teeth, or too much saltwater taffy could make your jaw hurt. He was trouble in the way that a bull could be trouble in a china shop.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her fumble with the strap of her shoe. He couldn’t bite his tongue any longer. “Do you normally hitchhike in heels?”

She looked at him. “You don’t like them?”

Jon wanted to point out that that wasn’t what he said. But that would imply that he did like the heels. Which he did. But she couldn’t know that. So he said nothing of the sort.

“Not the best choices for walking places.” 

She shrugged. “I’ve been walking in heels since I was born. Also, guys tend to stop more if your legs look good.”

Her legs did look good. But that wasn’t why he stopped. Not that he needed to justify himself to her.

“Wouldn’t need to worry about stopping if you took a taxi.”

“Why pay for a taxi when I can bum a ride off a kind stranger?” 

“That’s an oxymoron.”

She ignored that, winking. “It’s not like we’re strangers anyway.”

That day in the street. It was Jon’s turn to act deaf. Acknowledging it would be acknowledging that he gawked at her like a fucking idiot, and he would rather slam his hand in a car door than do that.

“You don’t even know my name.”

“Like you were gonna tell me.” She leaned back. “I know you’re type.”

She played with her necklace as she said it. It was a tiny little golden heart locket. Probably a completely innocent gesture but it only drew attention to her neckline which was cut so nicely. Her blouse was strapless lavender gingham that tied in the front.

“My type?” He echoed absently.

“The mysterious, brooding, solemn type.” She teased, arching an eyebrow. 

Jon scowled. “I’m not mysterious or solemn. And I don’t brood.”

“Prove it.” She nudged him. “What’s your name?”

He scratched his jaw. Couldn’t really avoid that. “Jon.”

She repeated his name, once to herself, and then again a little louder. “Nice to meet you, Jon.”

She opened the door. That’s when he realized that they were at the strip. He found himself disappointed. 

“Aren’t you gonna tell me your name?” He called after her. 

She just smiled widely. “I never said I wasn’t mysterious, now did I?”

* * *

The next time Jon saw her was at a strip club. 

He didn’t want to be there.

Everything about stripping seemed rather mechanical to him, since he knew what happened behind the scenes. Passionless. It’s not that the girls on stage didn’t appeal to him, it’s that they were _supposed_ to. And the simple fact of the matter was Jon hated being told what to do.

So he wasn’t there for himself.

Myranda Royce was in the dressing room, applying gloss to her lips. The place was bustling with half naked women hurrying around but she always moved at a leisurely place, and any man around her would always stop to watch. Her curves made sure of that and her mouth only drove it home. 

“Harry’s out of your place.” Jon told her, hands stuffed in his pockets. “He won’t be bothering you again.”

Myranda threw her head back, hand over her heart. “Say it again, but _slower._ ”

He just snorted, and then she got up on her platform heels and wrapped her arms around him. She smelled like vanilla. Her lips were sticky on his chin.

“Thank you.”

Jon kept a polite hand on her back, refusing to venture any further, although he knew she would let her. “Glad I could help.”

“You always take such good care of me.” Her nose brushed his neck as she purred. “You should stay so I can take care of you.”

She lifted one of those curvy legs so it wrapped around his hips and Jon gently set it back down on the ground. 

“Don’t start with that.” He said.

Myranda laughed. She always found his refusal to sleep with her was hilarious. Probably because she knew that one day he’d say yes. Guys could never say no to her for long.

“Seriously. There’s a bachelor party tonight. We’ve got our best girls.” She walks back to her makeup table, fluffing her hair up more. “We have cigars. I know how much you like them. Stay.”

“Can’t. Not off work quite yet.” He still had to go see Alys Karstark and tell her that her uncle wouldn’t be bothering her anymore. Unlike Harry, that asshole actually put up a fight. “I’ll see you around.”

“Alright, baby.” She waved at him in her mirror. “You take care.”

Jon saw himself out. Or he tried. The place was so packed. He was muscling his way to the door when he saw her. Her hair was pink and short instead of red and big, but he’d know that mouth anywhere. He’d know those eyes anywhere.

And then he wasn’t trying to leave anymore. 

When he was finally at her side, he had no idea what to say. Not that she was paying attention. She was too busy talking to the bartender. She had a drink tray under her arm. Strippers didn’t carry those. Waitresses did, though.

“Hey!” Jon called out over the music, and she turned around.

She was even more striking than he remembered. It was annoying. She smiled at him. “Not my name, but close enough.” Then she leaned in and whispered, “Jon.”

She whisked away breezily on her clear stilettos, and he followed her like she had him by a leash. “You never told me your name.”

She looked over her shoulder. “Here, it’s Alayne.”

“And not here?” He pressed. 

She turned back to face him, all close. She smelled like lavender. Her eyelids had glitter on them. Her breath was hot in his ear. “That’s a secret.”

“Sansa!” A familiar voice calls. 

She pulled back all of the sudden, playfulness gone. She looked annoyed. She muttered, “Not anymore.”

Myranda emerged, hand on her elbow. Then she caught sight of Jon. “What are you still doing here?”

“You guys know each other?” The girl—Sansa—looked between them.

“Not really.” Myranda said before Jon could. She raised her eyebrows suggestively. “You guys know each other?”

“He gave me a ride to the strip.”

“Well, I hate to interrupt your heartfelt reunion.” Myranda began, “But Littlefinger is looking for you, Sans.”

And just like that, she deflated. All of her slyness, coyness, teasing—it fell flat. Her face reflected nothing. Her tone reflected nothing. He could only tell from the way that she swallowed that this was something she didn’t wanna do. 

“See you around, Jon.” She said, and linked her arm through Myranda’s before disappearing into the crowd.

He hated the idea of leaving her in this place.

* * *

When she came looking for him, when she came to ask, Jon was trying to get drunk. 

He was at his usual bar, on his usual stool, drinking his usual drink. Scotch. It made his throat burn and he liked that because he was paying attention to that rather than the bruising in his knuckles. He forgot his brass at home and that cost him dearly today. Maybe he’d start wearing rings.

He heard the delicate clearing of a throat behind him. 

Jon ignored it, kept drinking. Wondered if he should just crash in his car or call a cab to get home. Tormund would drive him, probably. 

Then he heard it again. 

He ignored it again. Didn’t think it was aimed toward him. He should probably get home. Ghost was waiting for him. He needed his dinner. 

Finally, there was the clop of leather hitting the bar. A purse. Jon turned to find Sansa taking the stool beside him as her own seat. She had a determined sort of look on her face. Her mouth was in a tight flat line. Her jaw was clenched. Her brow was wrinkled.

“Myranda says you’re the kinda guy who does favors.” Her voice was hard. “Is that true?”

If he wasn’t drinking, he probably would have tried to make himself presentable for her. He knew one of his eyes was blackened and his lip was still bleeding and there was also blood on his jeans. But he was just too tired to care about anything. Including how she found him. 

“Depends on who’s asking.” Jon mumbled around his cigarette.

“I’m asking.” Her blue eyes were wide and pleading and a lot different than they were seconds before and Jon knew that he was gonna say yes no matter what. If only it got her to stop looking at him like that.

He flicked some ash out. “So ask.” 

Sansa folded her hands together nicely. Kinda like a grade schooler trying to show off for the teacher. Her request wasn’t nearly as innocent. 

“I need a gun.”

For a moment, he didn’t think he heard her right. But then he looked over at her face, paling by the second, and he knew he did. He leaned in, voice only low enough for her to hear. 

“What do you need a gun for?”

She said nothing, averting her gaze. But Jon was persistent. He tapped on her chin with two fingers. “My eyes are up here.”

Her words took an insolent edge, but she still didn’t push his hand away. “What’s it matter to you?”

“Because you could get a gun just about anywhere in this town but you came to me. Which means you don’t want people to know you have a gun.” He cocked his head to the side. “Correct?”

Sansa bit her lip.

“Why is that? Planning on killing someone?”

“No!” She looked at him aghast. 

“Then what?” He pressed.

She sighed, fingers dancing on the bar. Then she pulled his glass from him and took a tiny sip. She grimaced, but nothing more. “Myranda didn’t say you asked questions.”

He usually didn’t. He didn’t know why he was doing so now. He didn’t know why he cared so much. So he didn’t say anything at all.

“There’s this guy at the Eyrie.” She hesitated. “He gives me the skeevies. He’s always messing with me. I keep telling him no….but he’s not the sort of guy who takes no for an answer.”

Anger threatened to boil over inside of him. “Littlefinger?”

“No!” Sansa said quickly. “That’s my boss. This guy—he’s a customer. A frequent one. Security tries their best to keep us all safe, but there’s so many of us. One time, he tried to follow me to the parking lot….”

She didn’t finish. Her face was flushed.

Jon didn’t need her to. 

“What’s his name?”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. He didn’t have time for confusion. “Don’t make me ask again.”

“Janos Slynt.” She stammered. 

He heard about Slynt. He liked messing around with girls. He liked messing around with young ones. Sansa wasn’t as young as he usually liked, but she was pretty. And to guys like him that was worth more.

He stood up, throwing a 20 down on the bar. “I’ll take care of it.”

“What?”

He didn’t answer. He made it to his car. He was faintly aware of her calling his name, but the blood roaring in his ears was louder than anything else. It wasn’t until he felt a hand on the inside of his arm that it started to fade.

“Are you listening to me? I don’t need you to play the avenging cowboy for me.” Sansa said. “I just need a gun, okay? It’s not your problem.”

Not his problem. He ignored that. “I don’t run guns, Sansa.” He said quietly. “If Myranda sent you to me for a favor like this, then she knew what the result would be. You do too, now. I will handle it, understand?” 

She just stared at him, mouth slightly agape. She seemed to snap out of it, before nodding.

Jon ground out his cigarette. “Where ya headed, now?”

“Home.” She wrapped her arms around herself.

He opened the passenger door. “I’ll take you.”

So he took her. Sansa lived in a complex a few blocks away from the strip. A bit run down, but completely livable. She leaned into the window after she shut the door.

“You’re kinda scary, you know that?”

“Yeah.” Jon answered honestly. “I get that a lot.”

Her gaze softened, then. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me.” He muttered.

And then her body was halfway into his car again, as her lips pressed against his cheek.

She touched his chin with two fingers, like he did to her earlier. “Too late.”

* * *

Finding Slynt was almost too fucking easy.

He tended to frequent the same three piece of shit dive bars and all Jon had to do was visit every single one and ask around a little. He found him pissing near the garbage cans outside on Thursday, singing to himself. 

He didn’t even get the chance to put his dick away. 

Jon yanked him back by the collar and threw him to the ground. He yelped in surprise but didn’t get to finish because Jon punched him in the face. Again and again and again. He heard things cracking underneath his knuckles and he kept going. Slynt’s screams turned into gurgles. 

“You like messing with girls?” Jon snapped. “Cornering them in parking lots? Huh?”

Slynt didn’t answer. Instead, he rolled onto his side and moaned. Jon kicked him in his ribs twice. He spurted out blood. 

That was when Jon yanked him up by the collar, teeth clenched. Slynt’s face wasn’t even recognizable anymore. It still wasn’t enough. He knew that even if he killed him it wouldn’t feel like enough.

“If you ever go near Sansa again, I will kill you.” He said. “Got it?”

Slynt coughed, unable to answer, until Jon shook him. He nodded weakly. His body slumped to the ground after Jon let go. 

He took off his brass knuckles and dropped them into his pocket. 

He could use a drink. 

* * *

She found him at the bar the next evening.

“You could have _killed_ him!” Sansa hissed, mouth agape and fingers digging into his arm. 

Jon didn’t move them even though he very well could have. He just gave her a look. “Really? And what were you intending to do with that gun you asked me for?”

She looked appalled at the suggestion. “I just wanted to _scare_ him!” 

“Guys like Slynt don’t respond to fear unless it comes with the promise of violence.” He tipped his drink back. “So that’s what I gave him.”

“He’s in the _hospital_.”

“Better him than you.”

Sansa seemed to calm a little at those words, at the reminder that Slynt was a threat to her, and because of him, wouldn’t be bothering her any longer. “Thank you.” She muttered begrudgingly, sitting beside him. “But you didn’t have to break his jaw.”

She opened her purse. Jon reached out to close it again. “I don’t want your money.”

She frowned. “Myranda paid you.”

“You wanna know how you can pay me?” He gave her a hard look. “By staying out of that damn club.”

“It’s my _job_.”

“Quit it.”

Sansa opened her mouth to argue, eyes narrowed, but he stopped her. “As long as you’re there, there’s always gonna be creeps like Slynt fucking with you.”

“There’s creeps like Slynt _everywhere_!” She argues. “On the street. At the movies. Doesn’t matter whether I’m wearing a bikini or a turtle neck. They’ll always touch what they want and take what they want—”

She cut herself off, then, taking a deep breath. She was composed again. “At least at the Eyrie, I’m making them pay for it.”

The thought of anyone touching her, forcing themselves on her, made him sick. And it would continue to happen at the Eyrie. He understood what she was saying, but that didn’t mean she had to make it easier for them. 

“You can make money anywhere.” He was pleading at that point.

“Not the kinda money I need.”

“What kind of money is that?”

Sansa smiled, then. “Buy me a drink and I’ll tell you.”

So he did. 

Jon bought her a rum and coke and while it was being made, she pulled out her wallet and opened it. There was a picture inside of two red haired kids. Both boys. 

“These are my little brothers Bran and Rickon.” She says proudly. “I’m saving up so I can buy us a house. I have it all planned out.”

And she did. She told him of how the house they grew up in was on the market right now, all the way up Washington. All they had to do was buy it. She didn’t talk about what happened to her parents and he didn’t ask. 

“They’re in a foster home right now.” She explained. “Me and my sister visit them sometimes. The family is really nice, but they’re not _family_ , you know?”

He didn’t, not really. It had been a long time since he had any family. He still said, “Yeah.”

Sansa stirred her straw around her cup. “So why do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Play outlaw cowboy to strippers and club waitresses?”

Jon scoffed. “Believe it or not, you guys aren’t my only clients.”

“That’s not an answer.” She pointed out. 

“Are you gonna buy _me_ a drink for my answer?”

“I don’t have to. You’re easy.”

And he actually laughed. Genuinely laughed. Harder than he had in such a long time. 

“So?” Sansa prompted.

“I’m good at it, I guess.”

“Do you like being good at it?”

He didn’t know what to say to that. Nobody ever asked him that before. He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“In my experience, it does.” Sansa tilted her head.

Her fingernails were the softest pink. Everything about her was so soft. He looked down at his bruised, scraped knuckles and his calloused palms. He knew what the answer was. He knew it was something she probably didn’t wanna hear. He said it anyway.

“Sometimes.” He admitted. “When they deserve it.”

Jon looked back up at her and found her watching him. Her expression hadn’t changed. Sansa looked at him as she had always looked at him, from the day he first saw her. Like she knew him. Like she understood.

He didn’t know how to feel about that, so he took out his cigarettes and his matches. 

“You shouldn’t smoke, you know.” Her chin rested on her dainty fist.

“Heard that one before.” He said dismissively, striking his match. 

“You can’t kiss me if you smoke.”

She said it so casually, yet so imperiously that it pissed him off. But the word was already echoing in his head. _Kiss._ The seed had been planted. Now he was looking down at her soft pink mouth and he couldn’t help but _want. Need._ It took everything in him to meet her eyes again.

His voice was remarkably even. “Who says I wanna kiss you?”

Sansa rolled her eyes, and took the match. She blew it out. He didn’t even try to stop her. Their mouths were pretty close. 

“You wanna kiss me.” She said simply.

  
Yeah. He did.

  
And that was the problem, he decided, as Jon watched her hand drop to his knee. He never wanted anything so bad in his life. 

* * *

He knew it was a bad idea.

Taking her back to his car, back to his. He understood it just as he understood that he didn’t really have a choice in the matter. When she kissed him, tasting of rum and coke and her bubblegum lip gloss and he kissed her back, he forfeited that choice completely. Maybe he had the moment he met her. 

There was just no saying no to her.

They ended up at his because she insisted upon it, since her sister and her boyfriend were always fighting. Jon lived in a trailer behind an abandoned movie lot. 

But Sansa didn’t look put out, or disappointed, or anything. She just said to him, “Aren’t you gonna open the door for me?”

So that was what he did.

He realized he forgot about Ghost the moment he came bounding up to them, surprisingly quiet for his large size. Sansa screamed—but not in fear, like most people did, but _delight_.

She dropped down to her knees and began scratching him behind the ears. Ghost immediately sucked up all of the attention, licking her face eagerly. 

“Who’s this?” Sansa looked up at him, laughing.

“Ghost.” Jon said, a little dumbfounded. 

“Aren’t you precious?” She cooed. His tail wagged in response. “Yes you are! Yes you are…”

It was a while before she stood up again. And when she did, she took to exploring. Ghost followed, nudging her at the back of the knees. Jon clucked his tongue at him and he whined, but came to his side. It was so strange. He normally didn’t take well to others. 

“It’s not anything special.” He said, as he watched her look around. He tried to see what she saw—mismatched furniture, unfinished crosswords, and a kitchen that was almost completely empty. It occurred to him that he should be embarrassed. “I told you that your place would be better.”

Sansa fingered his dog tags, which were on the counter. “I like it. It has character.”

Ghost started nudging at the door. Jon grabbed his leash. “Give me a second.”

“Sure.”

He took Ghost out to do his business, and that took about ten minutes. When they got back inside, Sansa wasn’t in the living room anymore. Probably in the bathroom. Jon decided to feed Ghost. That’d keep him busy for a while.

That was when he realized the bathroom light wasn’t on. And that was the same time he heard music coming from his room.

Sansa was inside, fiddling with his record player. She looked over her shoulder at him. “You have groovy music.”

Jon didn’t recognize this song, but she was dancing and he liked the way she danced. “It’s not mine.”

The beat was slow so she moved her hips slow. “It’s in your trailer.”

“Yeah, but—” Her shirt was riding up. Words were failing him. He tried to focus. “A friend gave them to me.”

“Do you have a lot?” 

“Music?” 

“F _riends_.”

“Oh.” He said dumbly. “I do alright.”

“So you have two friends, then.” Sansa was making her way towards him. “Dude who likes Maurice and the Zodiacs, and me.”

Her arms are up in the air above her head, before they loop around his neck, pulling him close. She’s barefoot, so they’re the same height. 

“We’re friends?” 

“You beat someone up for me free of charge.” Her breath was against his lips. “You can’t come back from that without being friends.”

Jon’s hands drift down to her hips, and they stop moving. “Is that why you’re doing this? Because I helped you?”

“No.” Sansa didn’t look offended by the presumption. She bumped her nose against his. “I like the way you look at me.”

_How do I look at you?_ He wanted to ask her. But more than anything, he didn’t want to know. He was afraid of what he might hear, so he kissed her instead. 

“Aren’t you gonna take my clothes off?” She said against his mouth. 

It was a demand, not a request. She was just nice enough to frame it as such. Jon was eager to obey all the same. _Him._ Eager to obey. What was she doing to him? 

He yanked the zipper of her pants down. “You’re used to having people do things for you.”

He nipped at her earlobe and Sansa gasped. She kicked off her jeans clumsily. “Doesn’t count if they wanna do it in the first place.”

Jon backed her up to the bed. “You make them want what you want.”

She looked up at him. Her mouth was swollen and her cheeks were flushed and they hadn’t even started yet. Not even close. 

She said to him, “I’ve got this feeling no one can make you do anything.”

She laid down. He followed her. Her panties were baby blue and damp in the center. He slid his hand underneath the cotton and touched her between her legs. Her hips lifted up to meet his fingers and her lips parted. The sweetest, most vulnerable sound left them. He stroked her up and down, slow and patient. She started to moan. 

He took his time with her. The desperation that told him this would only be happening once wanted him to go faster, but he wanted to remember this. He wanted to remember her locket resting on her chest and her nipples poking through the fabric of her shirt and the sounds she was making. She got louder when he did certain things. She liked soft touches and rough ones simultaneously. She wanted the grinding of his palm into her clit as much as she wanted his thumb soothing it with care. He gave her both and she gave him the pleasure of watching her. She was soaked. His mouth watered. He wanted to taste her. 

Her mouth searched for his, head tilted up. Jon gave her what she wanted. There was a hunger in the kiss that wasn’t there before. Her hands moved to his hips, bringing him closer. She started removing his belt. 

“Condom.” He grunted. “Hold on.”

He reached into the nightstand drawer. She waited patiently underneath him, kissing his neck. He shoved the drawer shut in frustration when he found the box empty.

“Can’t you just pull out?” She asked. 

Jon rolled off her. “I can pull out all I want and still end up knocking you up. It doesn’t work all the time.” 

Sansa pouted. 

He wanted to be inside of her more than he wanted a shit ton of things right now, but he wanted a baby even less than that. She was too pretty to be pregnant, and much too pretty to be stuck with him for the rest of her life.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t make her moan. So he told her, “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you—” She started, only to find his head between her legs and his mouth on her cunt. She started moaning again. Her knees shook.

It wasn’t better than being inside of her, but it was a close second.

* * *

Jon woke up alone. He wasn’t surprised, just a little disappointed. Leaving the bathroom, he nearly tripped over a wedged heel at the same time he heard a laugh.

Outside, Sansa was throwing one of Ghost’s toys and he was retrieving it. Every time he did, she jumped up and down clapping. Ghost started coming back faster, eager to please her. When Jon opened the door, he abruptly sat on his haunches, stiff backed and at attention. 

She noticed his change of behavior, and looked over her shoulder. She smiled sheepishly. 

“Sorry.” Sansa pushed her hair out of her face, messy from sleep. “He had to pee so I took him and now we’ve just been playing.”

“Thanks.” Jon said, although he was a bit unnerved. He didn’t usually sleep so heavily. 

“No problem.”

They stood there for a while in awkward silence. This was the part where she would leave, or he would and hope she’d be gone by the time he got back. Except he wasn’t hoping that. He didn’t want her to leave at all.

She opened her mouth to speak at the same time that he blurted, “You like eggs?”

Sansa considered it. “If there’s toast.”

He shook his head. “It’s always something with you.”

She grinned at that.

“Come on. I’ve got coffee too.”

Jon opened the door, offering her a hand.

She looked at him.

She took it. 

* * *

It didn’t happen immediately. There was a waiting period. He didn’t want to be too desperate, but he also wanted to see her again. When Ros, one of the strippers at the Eyrie, called him asking him to get her alimony from her husband, Jon took the opportunity.

“Is Sansa around?” He finally asked, when he forced himself to stop pissing around. 

“Sansa?” Ros shook her head. “She’s got the night off. Something about her brothers.”

“Oh.” He tried to not feel disappointed. 

“What do you want with her anyway?” A slow smirk spread over her face. “Finally found an Eyrie girl that does it for you?”

Jon turned to leave, conveniently hiding the flushing of his face. “None of your business.”

“I’ll tell her you were looking for her!” Ros called after him.

“I wasn’t looking for her.” He said defensively. “I just asked.”

“Whatever you say, Snow.”

“Seriously—don’t tell her that.”

Jon was at the bar when Sansa came by, smiling all smug. “Heard you were looking for me.”

“I wasn’t—” He clenched his jaw. “Ros needed a favor. I just happened to be around.”

Her smile only widened. “Well, I’m glad you were around.” 

He wanted to protest, but her arms were around his waist and he couldn’t really muster the irritation to.

“You mind giving me a ride to work?” Her chin was on his shoulder. 

“No.” He said, softening underneath her touch. “Come on.”

He drove her to the club. As she got out of the car, he was sticking a cigarette in his mouth.

“You want a light?”

Jon looked up to find her holding out his matches, smiling at him innocently. He narrowed his eyes at her. He was about to take them back when he remembered her words from the other night. 

_You can’t kiss me if you smoke._

He threw the cigarettes into his glove compartment. He gritted out, “Nope.”

“Are you sure?” She said in a sing song voice. 

“That’s what I said.”

Sansa leaned in and kissed him on the mouth, long and soft. Then again on the cheek. When she pulled back, she was smiling. 

“I get off at two. Don’t be late.”

Before he could stop her, she took his cigarettes out of the glove compartment, and left. He watched her throw them in the trash before she went inside. He was too busy tasting her lip gloss to be angry. 

* * *

They headed back to her place afterwards. It was bigger than his place, but still cramped. The furniture matched. It was a lot more well kept and girly. There were throw pillows and quilts and a lot of framed pictures. 

“We have pizza.” Sansa kicked her heels off. “You want pizza?”

“Sure.” He answered absentmindedly, as he looked at the pictures. One had an auburn haired guy that was a little older than her, around his age. He was smiling. 

“That’s Robb. My brother.” Sansa said over his shoulder. “He went to Vietnam.”

_He didn't come back._ She didn’t have to say it. It was implied in the way her voice got all quiet. Jon was in Vietnam too. There were a lot of times that he wished he didn’t come back. 

“These are my parents.” She showed him a picture of a couple standing outside of a house with a baby. “Aren’t they sweet?”

They looked really happy. “You look like your mom.” He told her. 

“Everyone says that.” She said, but she looked glad he said it all the same. 

They heated up the pizza, and went to her room. There were posters of singers on the walls that he didn’t care to recognize, and a record player on the dresser. There were stuffed animals on her bed. 

“Look what I got.” She held up a vinyl sleeve.

It was the song they listened to that night he brought her back to his place. “You have it.” 

“I found it at a garage sale the other day.” Sansa said proudly. “It made me think of you.”

He watched her put it on and he knew he wouldn’t ever be able to listen to this song again without thinking of her. She started to dance like she did last time, moving back towards the bed. She pulled him by the belt loops so he came with her. 

There were condoms on her dresser. An entire box. Unopened. 

She kissed him and he kissed her back. She was wearing the same shorts he first saw her in. He started to take them off.

“Nuh uh.” She said, unbuckling his belt and pulling his zipper down. “My turn.”

She got down on her knees and slid her lips over his cock. Her tongue moved over him and her mouth was so hot and wet he forgot to breathe. She took him down her throat and sucked and did it over and over again while leaning into his touch. He was about to come and he was about to come hard but he told her, “Up here.” And then she was kissing him again and he was ripping open the box of condoms.

Jon woke up with her sprawled over his chest. He liked the feel of her in his arms. He was reluctant to pull away, but he had to use the bathroom.

Someone was in the kitchen. He could hear and smell something frying on the stove. He just wanted to avoid any kind of interaction as best as he could and get back to Sansa’s arms. But as soon as he opened the door, he found a guy towering in front of him. He was so tall it was ridiculous.

“Hey.” He nodded at him. “You’re the cowboy?”

Jon squinted. “‘S’cuse me?”

“Sansa hasn’t been able to stop talking about you.” The guy brushed past him for the toilet. 

He had his dick out, so obviously Jon should have left, but he was curious. “She talks about me?”

“What the fuck are y’all doing in here? Gossiping?” A short dark haired girl came storming into the bathroom. Her feet were small but every step she took was a stomp. She took out her toothbrush, then found Jon’s eyes in the mirror. “Who are you?”

“Cowboy.” The guy answered for him, over the stream of his pee. 

“Oh.” The girl, who Jon knew now was Sansa’s little sister Arya, scrunched her nose. “You’re shorter than I thought you’d be.” She squirted out some toothpaste onto her toothbrush and looked at her boyfriend. “Did you get my tampons?”

“Shit.” He grimaced. “Babe—”

“Jesus Christ, I asked you for _one_ thing, Gendry! Can you do anything right?”

Arya and her boyfriend Gendry proceeded to argue and Jon took the opportunity to escape back into Sansa’s bedroom. She was sitting up, yawning. 

“Morning.” She rubbed her bleary eyes. The one movement was insanely adorable. 

“Morning.” He dropped back down on the bed beside her, and kissed her shoulder. 

She picked up a brush, and started running it through her hair. “Did they bother you?”

“No.” He assured her immediately. Then he thought about it some more. “They call me cowboy.”

Sansa kissed his brow. “Cuz you’re my cowboy. You act like one of the bad guys in the westerners my daddy used to watch. It’s pretty cute.”

“I’m not cute.” Jon protested, a little annoyed. 

“You know what they say about cowboys.” She said in a sing song voice, straddling him. 

He decided to humor her, hands on her hips. “What?”

She kissed him nice and slow, humming. “They make better lovers.”

* * *

It took him awhile to realize that that’s what he was doing. 

_Loving_ her. Jon thought it was just sex. Really, really good sex. They’d spend their days apart at work and reunite during the evening at his and then they’d fuck. He’d fall asleep next to her and wake up in the middle of the night to do it again. And before he took her home in the morning, he’d be inside of her one last time. 

Their first time was good, but their second time was better. And so was the one after that. He liked the way her nails felt on his back and he liked the way her hands threaded through his hair. He liked it most of all when she was on top. The first time they did that, he had his hand cupping the back of her neck. He told her to take what she needed. Sansa tried, but her thighs shivered and her arms were weak against his chest. So he took her and laid her down and fucked her into the mattress until she came. It became a game of theirs. She liked being his damsel in distress. She liked being taken care of by him, and he was more than happy to do it. Jon didn’t believe in making love before he met her but he thinks there might be some truth to the phrase. 

Because he did love her. He loved the way she always liked to have music playing and the way she put her hair in rollers at night and the way she laughed when Ghost licked her face. He loved the way she liked to fall asleep on his chest and he loved the way she danced even if there wasn’t a song on and he loved the way she said his name.

Yeah, he loves her. Which is really fucking annoying, because that’s why he’s here now. 

At a rollerskating rink crawling with shitty preteens. It’s Rickon’s 12th birthday today, and Sansa and the Reeds threw him a party. Everything smells like pizza and old socks. Disco is blaring through the speakers. Every once in a while, someone starts shrieking. It’s his own personal _hell_ , basically. 

But he can’t even be mad.

He’s too busy watching Sansa teach some girl how to skate in time to the music. He’s not the only one. All of Rickon’s little shitty friends are following her every movement, practically drooling. She’s a vision, with her big red hair and bangles clinking around her arms.

But she’s his. And she’s happy. So Jon is happy.

He had been nervous to meet Rickon and Bran at first, but the entire thing went relatively well. Sansa introduced them as soon as he arrived.

“So you’re the boyfriend, huh?” Bran said warily. 

Jon wasn’t sure how to answer that, but Sansa said, “Yes he is.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you guys.” He said, a little more confident now. Boyfriend. 

“What happened to your hands?” Rickon asked nosily.

His knuckles were scraped as they always were. “Nothing.”

“He got into a fight.” Bran gave him a suspicious look. “Didn’t you?”

Rickon grinned. “Did you win?”

He looked up at Sansa, who looked embarrassed and annoyed. She mouthed an apology. He shrugged it off. 

Jon said, “I always win.”

“Awesome.” Rickon said. “Can you teach me?”

“Alright.” Sansa pushed him away by the shoulders. “That’s enough.”

Later on, Bran got him alone and gave him a piece of his mind. 

“My sister has shit taste in boyfriends.” He said, arms crossed over his chest. “So I’m not buying this whole nice guy act, pal. I’m watching you.”

That was fair. He wasn’t a nice guy. He beat people up for money. The only friend he had was his bartender. He didn’t know how to tie a tie. He stole newspapers off of people’s driveways sometimes.

But he loves her. That has to count for something. 

“He’ll come around.” Gendry tells him now. They’re across from each other in a booth. He isn’t much of a skater, either. “He’s just protective of her.”

Jon can’t blame him for that. “Yeah. I hear you.”

Suddenly, Rickon plops into the seat beside Gendry. He takes his slice of pizza out of his hand and took a huge bite. 

“What are you doing?” Gendry reaches for the pizza back, but Rickon is already cramming it into his mouth.

“Giving you a rim job.” He grins.

“Rim job!” Gendry shouts, panicked, making sure no one had heard. “He means rim shot.”

Rickon cackles, swallowing the pizza. Then he turns to Jon. “Arya says you beat up people for money. Is that true?”

Jon doesn’t see the point in lying to him. “Bad people, yeah.”

“I have money. Could you beat up Big Walder for me?”

“Jesus Christ.” Gendry swears.

Jon humors him. “How much money are we talking?”

“Dude!” Gendry cries. “Don’t encourage him.”

“Thirty dollars.” Rickon says. “He tries to shove me in lockers. He gets me detention a lot. He’s such a dickwad—”

“Alright. Pizza.” Gendry shoves his plate towards him. “Look what we have here. More pizza. Less violence.”

At that moment, he hears a laugh. Her laugh. Jon looks over to find Sansa holding hands with Bran, skating together. She’s laughing so hard her cheeks are pink. Bran looks just as much of a child as Rickon is in that moment. Jon can see how much she loves him. Another reason why he loves her.

“You’re a good sister.” He tells her, after Rickon blows the candles out on his cake. Sansa carved everyone perfect triangular pieces.

Her face brightens. “You really think so?”

Jon rubs the small of her back. “Yeah.”

When they finally leave the rink, it’s eleven. Sansa and Arya are both covering Rickon’s face in kisses and Bran is shaking Jon’s hand.

“Take care of her, Nice Guy.” He says, and his tone is a fraction softer than what it was earlier. 

“Of course.” Jon tells him.

They ride back to his. Sansa is so tired she falls asleep in the car. He carries her inside and removes her sandals. Kisses her forehead. 

_Nice guy._ He might not be one now, but for her, he’d definitely try. 


End file.
